


let my mind reset

by led_zephlin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Prompt Fill, tape recorders ship jm now ig, undefined place in time? like post s3 at least?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/led_zephlin/pseuds/led_zephlin
Summary: Jon needs to hide, and Martin goes to find him.Birthday prompt fill of "What are you doing?" "Hiding?" for mae-mil





	let my mind reset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mae-mil (maevemil)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevemil/gifts).

> Happy birthday to the cursed likes of mae-mil! Ily and treasure our conversations, however cursed they may be

Jon is used to being afraid. He is used to being frightened now and dealing with things that are the stuff of nightmares, for it has now become a mere normalcy. It’s become a cyclical process now: a loud sound, a sudden chill, perhaps even a bad dream that occurs after falling asleep at his desk, and Jon finds himself in the throes of fear and panic over something small and insignificant. 

It’s stupid, really, what sends him into such a fit this time. He’s just working, as usual, reaching for a folder when his elbow knocks into the ancient stapler perched on the edge of his desk. It falls to the floor and makes an almost abnormally loud crash, metal on metal as the top bursts open and staples scatter all over the floor like tiny, silver spiders. The noise makes Jon flinch and his heart leaps into his throat, already beating twice as fast as it should.

The shock of it sends a rush of adrenaline through him, and his brain is already alight with _ Something's wrong, I'm in danger, nothing is safe— _

The sense of it fills him with such dread that sweat starts to bead on the line of his brow and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Something seems to lace through and around his ribs, until it pulls around the cavity of his chest so much that he can scarcely breathe. It seems to wind tighter with every tick of the clock, and the sound thuds in his ears so hard it almost hurts.

Jon shoves his chair back so fiercely that the desk rattles, pens and papers falling to the floor as he struggles to his feet, heaving labored breaths. The room bends and twists in his vision as he rises, and it’s so much like the Spiral that something like a scream sticks itself in the back of his throat and lodges there, never bothering to free itself. His hands are trembling when he claps them over his ears in an effort to drown out the sound of the clock still ticking away in its rhythmic drone.

He has to get out of here, he has to get away— 

He staggers towards the door, fumbling with the doorknob and wrenching it open so hard that the hinges screech in protest.

He doesn’t really know where he’s going when he stumbles down the hallway; he just needs to get away from that goddamned clock.

* * *

Working has become something of a distraction to Martin nowadays, a distraction from the reality that he lives in, from the ever-present heaviness that seems to loom over existence in a world where monsters are real. 

The idea that working in a place that catalogues the existence of these monsters is a distraction is almost ridiculous in the paradoxical nature of it all, but it remains true nonetheless.

Or at least, it would be if weren’t for the low static that seems to purr from the far edge of Martin’s desk.

He looks up from the papers he’s been fiddling with, seeking out the source of it. Perhaps it’s only some bothersome insect or a lightbulb close to fizzling out, he thinks at first, but the rhythm of it feels off. 

Martin traces the sound to a pile of papers draped over something, forming a peak that hadn’t been there before. 

A tape recorder lies under it when he lifts the papers, merrily whirring away. 

“Oh, it’s one of you,” he says. He picks it up, and it almost seems to buzz in his hands. “Something wrong? Something important?” 

They’ve appeared before during such moments, but as Martin waits, nothing happens. There are no footsteps echoing from the hall, no creatures burrowing their way through the walls, and his office door remains firmly shut.

“Well?” he asks. The static carries on. 

He tries to click it off, but even after the button gives way under his finger, the static continues. He sighs and sets it back down. Maybe he can ignore it.

He’s just started considering it when the static picks up a distinctly annoying ringing, and he decides that ignoring it isn’t an option. How Jon deals with these things all the time— 

Jon. Of course. He’d probably know how to fix it. Martin doesn’t really want to bother him, but Jon’s been working hard enough the past few days that Martin can probably use the tape recorder as an excuse to check on him, maybe even make him eat something. There’s a new cafe that’s just opened up about a block away from the Institute, perhaps he could even persuade Jon to go out with him and give it a try.

Martin rises from his seat and picks up the recorder. 

“You’re all quite a handful, you know,” he tells it like it’s a new puppy making mischief, “How are we ever supposed to get things done if you keep distracting us?”

If the recorder can respond, it chooses not to, just continues its low static as Martin leaves the room, and makes his way down the hallways to reach Jon’s office. 

There’s just one problem that arises when he gets there: Jon isn’t in his office. There’s a chair that’s crooked and almost turned around, and there are pens all over the floor. Even the filing cabinet seems to have been knocked askew. But Jon isn’t there.

That’s strange, Martin thinks. Jon rarely leaves his office; half the time he even falls asleep at his desk. He glances around the room, as if Jon is hiding under the desk or behind the shelves somehow, and shakes his head at himself for being silly. 

“Where do you suppose he went?” he asks the tape recorder in his hand, still emitting static. For a brief moment, it skips a beat, and then goes back into its constant rumble. Martin isn’t sure whether to take that as a reply or not. 

“Well, let’s go have a look for him,” he says dubiously. "He's got to be here somewhere."

* * *

There’s something seriously ridiculous about this, Martin starts thinking as he circles through the Archives’ halls for the second time. The static keeps sporadically getting louder and quieter, and he’s nowhere closer to finding Jon than he was at the start.

“I don’t suppose you could give me a hand,” he sighs to the tape recorder. It makes no semblance of a response.

He turns a newer corner, and it fades out to almost being inaudible. He blinks. At least he’ll be able to work now, if it’s gone all quiet. Still, he’s concerned about where Jon might be. 

Martin decides to just head back to his office, and text Jon from the cell phone he left in there like an idiot. He turns back around and starts to head the way he came. The static gets louder again. 

Martin groans. _ Not again. _

Then it occurs to him, finally, that perhaps there’s something about his location that’s affecting the static. To test this, he moves back to the place where he was when it faded out. 

The tape recorder goes almost quiet again. 

It might be very foolish of him, but he starts to follow the static, turning corners and heading down hallways, listening intently for the static’s increase and decrease in volume. 

It’s not until he reaches the second hallway just before Artefact Storage that he’s starting to think he might be heading towards something dangerous, but he pushes on.

Curiously, the closer he gets to Artefact Storage, the quieter the static gets. Now thoroughly confused, he doubles back, and it gets loud again. 

There’s a corridor of small, unused offices that he finds himself in now, and a variety of closed doors all greet him. 

The static is incredibly loud now, as he hovers in front of the third door he encounters. Warily, Martin reaches for the doorknob, and just as he turns it and opens the door, the tape recorder clicks off. 

Martin isn’t fully aware of this, however, because he’s finally found Jon, who’s curled up on the floor near a shelf, face buried into the arms wrapped around his knees.

"Jon?" Martin says incredulously.

The archivist looks up from the knees he's pulled up to his chest. His eyes are red,his glasses are crooked, and his shoulders are tense like they’ve had the sky set upon them. 

Martin looks around the room, if one could even call it a room. It's just a closet, really, with mops and cleaning supplies stacked haphazardly on one shelf. 

"Jon," he says again, softer this time, "What are you doing here?" 

Jon blinks, and shifts slightly. "Er— " He coughs, clearing his throat, "—Well, I'm—I'm hiding, I suppose." 

"Hiding? From what?" Martin asks. 

Jon shakes his head. "I...I don't know. I just—" He takes a shaky breath, and doesn't continue. 

"Is it alright if I sit with you?" says Martin, pointing to the empty space beside him. Jon goes quiet for a moment, then nods. Martin steps into the closet, shutting the door behind him. He sets the tape recorder down on a precarious stack of boxes and proceeds to carefully step around the supplies cluttering the floor. 

Jon moves over for him a bit, and Martin settles next to him, their shoulders touching. Jon sags against him slightly, his temple resting against the soft cotton of his boyfriend's sweater. 

He's still shaking slightly, and when he closes his eyes, Martin gently slides his crooked glasses off his nose, and cleans them with the hem of his shirt.

Trying to lighten the mood, he says, "Did you take Basira's lunch out of the fridge by accident again?"

The barest fraction of a laugh rasps in the back of Jon's throat. 

"No," he says. "I've learned my lesson on that front." 

“That’s good.” Martin holds Jon’s glasses up to the light, and when he finds himself satisfied with their clarity, he carefully tucks them back onto Jon’s face. His fingertips skim Jon’s cheek as he does so, and Jon leans into the touch, just slightly as his eyes flutter open. 

Martin wraps a careful arm around his shoulders, and Jon seems to relax, just barely.

“You okay?” Martin asks.

“Not sure,” Jon replies hoarsely. “I just—felt wrong. Like I couldn’t breathe, like I—” He pauses. “Like I was going to die.”

Martin nods, his thumb rubbing soft circles over the tension in Jon’s shoulder. “Panic attack, then?” he says, sympathetically. He’s had his fair share of them, he knows how much they can throw one off their rhythm.

“Maybe. I just— I needed to get away.” Jon reaches for Martin’s hand, tracing absent lines on the back of it with his own fingertips for a few moments. “Were—were you looking for me?”

“Yeah. I wanted to check up on you.”

“Did it take long to find me?”

“Just a bit. I wasn’t looking in the right places, that’s all,” Martin says. 

Jon winces a bit. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, love,” Martin reassures him, pressing a kiss into Jon’s hair, “I understand, it’s alright.”

It’s quiet for a bit then, no whirring static, no ticking clock, before Jon clears his throat again. “I think—” His thumb skims over the ridges of Martin’s knuckles, “—I think I’m ready to leave here now.” 

“Alright.” Martin gets to his feet first and holds out a hand to Jon to help him up. “Do you want to maybe get some air? There’s a new café close to here if you’d like to go with me—or I could go pick something up for us if you’d rather stay inside.”

Jon pushes his glasses further up onto his nose. “No, no, going out sounds—sounds good. Especially with...with you.” His cheeks flush a bit at the last words, and Martin smiles. 

“Good,” he says softly, and raises Jon’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles there before entwining their fingers together and heading for the door.

At the last moment, Martin thinks of the tape recorder, but when he turns to pick it up, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Everything alright?” Jon asks when he pauses in his tracks.

“Yeah…” Martin says. “Just thought I’d forgotten something, that’s all.”

“Did you?”

“No,” Martin replies. “No, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Jon smiles at that, and Martin forgets about the tape recorder entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please!


End file.
